


close your eyes and catch the tide

by theglitterati



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (one day i'll write a kuroken fic that isn't just misery but today is not that day), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Established Relationship, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape Aftermath, Read at Your Own Risk, Recovery, Seriously this is pretty dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27052114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglitterati/pseuds/theglitterati
Summary: Kuroo is attacked by a stranger. He and Kenma deal with it the best they can.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 9
Kudos: 126





	close your eyes and catch the tide

**Author's Note:**

> TW: rape (mostly offscreen), fairly graphic descriptions of injuries resulting from rape, a panic attack, and mentions of suicidal thoughts. Please be gentle with yourself!
> 
> Title is from "Recovery" by Frank Turner.

Kuroo watched Bokuto and Akaashi get into the cab, Akaashi stumbling over the curb. Bokuto caught him, pulled him giggling into the backseat.

“You sure you don’t want us to drop you off?” Bokuto yelled. He got impossibly louder when he drank.

“Nah, it’s fine.” Kuroo’s place was only a ten-minute walk, but in the opposite direction of Bokuto’s. He didn’t want to run up the cab fare. “See you guys later. Akaashi, drink some water.”

Akaashi bowed and said, “Yes, Kuroo-sama.” That set Bokuto off laughing, their cab driver rolling his eyes as he pulled away.

Kuroo headed home, sticking a headphone in one ear. The streets were surprisingly quiet; even at two a.m., Tokyo was normally bustling. The only people he passed were night-shift workers and other drunk college kids.

Three blocks from home, he heard a noise from the alley. He pulled his headphone out. When he and Kenma were kids, they’d found a lost cat in an alley once. Their hopes of keeping it were dashed when they saw its address on its tag, but they were each rewarded with a thousand yen by its owners.

This wasn’t a cat. It was a guy about Kuroo's age, stooped against the wall. “Hey buddy, can you give me a hand?”

Kuroo’s feet moved before his brain. He probably should have been worried that the guy was out this late, that he was big, bigger than Kuroo, and that he didn’t actually say what he needed a hand with. But Kuroo was out late, too, Bokuto was huge and he’d never hurt a fly, and Kuroo, despite his reputation, really was a kind person at heart, ready to help a stranger with whatever he needed.

What he needed, as it turned out, was to wrap his hand around Kuroo’s throat.

*

Kenma woke to the sound of the front door slamming. Instinctively, he reached out for Kuroo and found his side of the bed empty. It was probably him making all the noise, then. Kenma listened, to footsteps through the apartment, the bathroom door opening. The sound of retching. He jumped out of bed.

Shaking himself awake, he remembered Kuroo had been out with Bokuto and Akaashi. Kenma hadn’t joined them because he was streaming late. Maybe Kuroo had had too much to drink?

He found him bent over the toilet. “Kuro?” Kuroo heaved again, either not hearing or ignoring him. Kenma put a hand on his back. Kuroo jerked violently, backing up against the wall until his head hit the tile.

Drinking might have explained the vomiting, but not the scrapes on Kuroo’s hands or the rips in his shirt. Not the terror in his eyes, and not the blood seeping through the seat of his pants...

“Kuro. What happened?” He thought he already knew, but he wanted badly to be proven wrong. Kuroo didn’t answer, just leaned over and threw up.

Kenma didn’t try to touch him again. When Kuroo stopped being sick, he asked, “Should I call the police?”

“No.” Kuroo’s head snapped up. “No, please don’t, please— I can’t—”

“It’s okay, I won’t.” Kenma raised his hands as though trying to calm a wounded animal. “I won’t call anyone. But Kuro, you’re bleeding.”

Kuroo twisted around to see for himself. “Fuck.” He glanced up at Kenma. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s _not_ nothing.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “I’m fine. I just need to take a shower.”

“Wait.” Kenma’s head filled with images from American crime shows. “Maybe you shouldn’t. There might be evidence—”

“Kenma, please.” His voice was quiet. “I have to.” 

Reluctantly, Kenma agreed. Kuroo wouldn’t let him help him clean up, even though his movements made it obvious he was in pain, but he also didn’t want Kenma to leave him alone. Kenma brought him a clean set of clothes from the bedroom and stood guard at the door.

He tried to make sense of what happened. Somewhere between the bar and home, Kuroo was… what? Sexually assaulted? Raped? Kenma could barely think the word. He felt half furious, half like he was going to be sick.

He’d left his phone in the other room. He didn’t want Kuroo to be scared he’d call someone, but he wished he could: the police, Kuroo’s parents, Akaashi. Anyone who would know what to do better than he did. But if Kuroo wouldn’t see anyone else, Kenma was all he had.

He retrieved a garbage bag from under the counter and put Kuroo’s ruined clothes inside. He could bring it, if he decided to go to the police later. Either way, Kuroo needed to see a doctor soon. There was too much blood, not to mention the risk of STDs, infection—

“I’m done.” Kuroo had dried off and put on the clothes Kenma brought him. He looked like he’d been through hell, but at least he was clean.

“Do you want to…” Kenma didn’t know what to say. Go to the hospital? Talk about it? “What do you want to do?”

Kuroo’s shoulders slumped. “I want to go to sleep.”

Of course he was exhausted; it was almost four in the morning. “Okay.”

Kenma brought in water and painkillers from the kitchen, plus the biggest bowl they owned, to put beside the bed. Once Kuroo had taken the pills, he wasn’t sure what to do.

“Should I sleep in the other room?” he asked. There was a futon there, for when he streamed late and didn’t want to wake Kuroo by coming to bed. Maybe Kuroo would want some space—

“Please don’t leave me,” Kuroo whispered.

Kenma nodded. He crawled into bed beside him, careful to keep his distance. He lay awake until he heard Kuroo start to snore.

*

He wasn’t sure he’d even slept when Kuroo woke up screaming. He thrashed around in the blankets, muttering unintelligibly until he broke free of the dream. His breathing was fast, shallow; Kenma could feel him clenching and unclenching his fists.

This, at least, he knew how to deal with.

“Kuro. Kuro!” Kuroo looked up, eyes wide with fear. “You’re having a panic attack. You’re going to be fine.”

It was the first time Kenma had said that and not quite believed himself. Kuroo had panic attacks often, but usually about school, or volleyball. Simpler things, it seemed now. “Just breathe, okay?”

“Feel sick,” Kuroo managed between breaths. Kenma passed him the bowl.

He didn’t vomit, but it took fifteen minutes for his breathing to even out. Normally, Kenma would hold him while it did, by the hand or with an arm around his shoulders. He feared now that touching Kuroo might cause another attack.

“I’m fine,” Kuroo finally said, taking a sip of water. It sounded like a lie.

“We should sleep more,” Kenma suggested. Kuroo lay back down, pulling his pillow over his head.

*

Kenma stared at Kuroo’s still-sleeping form. It was 9:30, the room dark thanks to their blackout curtains. Kenma had no idea what to do to help him, but breakfast seemed like a start.

He had just finished getting it ready when he heard Kuroo call out for him. “Kenma?”

“Sorry.” He hurried back to the bedroom. “I’m here. I was making breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry."

“You should try to eat a little. It’s plain rice, leftover from last night. It'll be easy on your stomach.” Kuroo accepted the bowl, glowered at it like it was full of cement. “I’m going to open the curtains, okay?”

Kuroo shrugged. Kenma pulled the curtains back. “Do you want any— holy shit.”

Kuroo froze. “What?”

“Your neck.” Bruises so dark they looked black wrapped around Kuroo’s throat, forming the unmistakable shape of a hand. Kenma could see the individual fingers, broken blood vessels revealing where Kuroo’s attacker had squeezed the hardest. Beside them, against his collarbone, was a bite mark.

Kuroo pulled the neck of his t-shirt up. “Don’t look—”

“You don’t have to hide it,” Kenma said. “Any of it. You don’t have to tell me what happened now, but when you’re ready, I want you to. Nothing is going to change—”

“It already has,” Kuroo croaked.

“I meant between us,” Kenma said softly.

Kuroo set the bowl of rice down on the nightstand with a thump. “I can’t eat this right now.”

*

Kuroo drifted in and out of consciousness for a few more hours. Kenma stayed beside him the entire time.

“Bokuto texted,” he said, when Kuroo seemed to have woken up for good. “He was worried that you hadn’t texted him since yesterday. I told him you were hungover.”

“Well, I am.”

“Do you want to try eating again?”

“No.” Kuroo stared at the ceiling. From where he was perched on the pillows, Kenma could see his eyes searching for something that wasn’t there. “Kenma?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think I’m disgusting?”

“What? No, of course I don’t—”

Kuroo took a ragged breath that turned into a sob. “Then why won’t you touch me?” He shuddered and broke into tears.

Kenma closed the distance between them as fast as possible, holding Kuroo tight. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was afraid I would hurt you—”

“Don’t leave me,” Kuroo cried into his sweatshirt.

“I’m not leaving.” Kuroo’s breathing sped up, but Kenma managed to keep him from panicking, rubbing his back and stroking his hair. “I'm not going anywhere.”

He shifted positions and Kuroo gasped, his mouth setting into a grimace. “Are you in pain?” Kenma asked him. “Where?”

“Fucking _everywhere,"_ Kuroo said. “My throat, my back, my— I need to go to the bathroom, and I don’t know if I can even walk.”

“I’ll help you,” Kenma said.

They got him there, Kenma half-carrying him around the waist. Kuroo could walk, but barely. 

He was still crying when they made it back to the bed, but Kuroo picked up his bowl of rice and diligently began to eat.

*

They stayed in bed the rest of the afternoon. Kenma dragged their TV in and set it up on the dresser, putting something mind-numbing on so Kuroo might be distracted. He faded in and out, sometimes making comments about the show, other times staring at the wall or sobbing.

“I wish I was dead,” he said, in one such moment.

Kenma held him closer. “I’m glad you’re not.”

They didn’t speak about what happened until after dinner (noodle soup). Kuroo got up to use the bathroom again and Kenma found blood on the back of his pajamas.

“You need to see a doctor,” Kenma said. Now that the shock had worn off, worry was setting in. “I’m scared, Kuro.”

“I know. I will. Just… tomorrow, okay?”

Kenma pursed his lips. “Fine.” He got him a change of clothes.

Kuroo turned off the TV when they lay down again. The room was dark, the sun already setting.

“I walked home,” he said.

“What?”

“Instead of going in the cab with Bokuto and Akaashi. I walked. I thought it would be faster.” He waited, like he was expecting to be scolded.

“It probably would have been,” Kenma said.

“There was this guy in an alley. He asked if I could help him, so I went, and then he— I’m so fucking stupid—”

Kenma squeezed his hand. “No, you’re not.”

“He, uh—” Now that he’d started talking, the words came tumbling out. Tears fell freely from his eyes. “He grabbed my neck and pushed me against the building. I tried to fight him off, but he was huge. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t even breathe.

“And then, he— he pulled my pants down, and I just froze, I stopped fighting, I stopped—” He broke off with a gasp.

Kenma held his breath. He wished that was it, that Kuroo would say it stopped there. But he knew it didn’t.

“He raped me,” Kuroo admitted. “It hurt so much I thought I was going to die. I thought he was going to kill me.” He trembled in Kenma’s arms. “I’m so fucking sorry, Kenma, I’m sorry—”

Kenma’s hands shook, too, not from fear, but from anger. He wanted to kill the man who had done this to him.

“Kuro,” he said. “Don’t say you’re sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But if I’d just taken the cab, or just not gone—”

“Kuro.” Kenma took his face in his hands, raised it up to look at him. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

*

They found a place nearby where they could find help. They offered medical and counselling services, and they would help them talk to the police if they wanted to.

“I want to report it,” Kuroo said. “I don’t want him to do that to anyone else. But I can’t… I don’t want to press charges, or go to court. I just want it to be over. I never, ever want to see him again.”

“You don’t have to,” Kenma said. He’d make sure of it.

Kuroo sighed. “What if the police don’t believe me? Because I’m a man, or because I’m gay…”

“They might not,” Kenma said. “But I believe you.”

“Will you come with me?” Kuroo asked. 

Kenma didn’t know if he meant to the police or the doctor or what, but he knew the answer anyway. “Yes.”

*

They lay in bed for a long time, holding each other.

“Kenma?”

“Mm?”

“What if we can’t have sex anymore?”

Kenma leaned up on his elbow. “What do you mean?”

“What if I panic? What if it doesn’t work?”

“Oh. Then we won’t have sex,” Kenma said. “Obviously.”

“But what if it takes months, or years—”

“It’s fine.”

“I can’t ask you to—”

“You’re not asking me to do anything, Kuro. I don’t care about that. Having sex with you is nice, but even if we never do it again, I’m not going to leave you.”

In the darkness, Kuroo exhaled. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

*

“How did you get away?” Kenma asked. “After he—”

“He left me there, once he was done. I lay on the ground for a while, then I got up and walked home."

*

Kenma made breakfast, eggs with rice this time. Kuroo cleaned his plate. He showered, this time with Kenma’s help. Kenma found more bruises on his hips — finger imprints again — and scratches on his back. Kuroo asked him not to look lower, so he didn’t. They wrapped him in a scarf to hide the marks on his neck and took a cab to the crisis centre.

Outside the door, Kuroo took Kenma’s hand. “Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For everything.”

They went inside.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at kyrstin.tumblr.com.


End file.
